


Trouble in Paradise

by Wandering_Moose



Category: The Cat Lady (Video Game)
Genre: Crying, Drinking Chemicals, F/M, Rape, Torture, fem!reader - Freeform, noncon, puke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 21:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10862886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Moose/pseuds/Wandering_Moose
Summary: He's gonna take what his wife won't give- from you.





	Trouble in Paradise

He's got you pinned down on that filthy bed in his garage- all you can smell is must and cleaning chemicals.

Next thing you know you can hear him slurring from underneath his gas mask, practically moaning some things and taking his time with others. muttering something about _"having some fun away from my damn clingy cunt of a wife- never givin' me what I want..."_

"What, trouble in paradise?" you snark weakly, shaking your head to try and dislodge the blindfold.

"Aw, my little pussy cat's got a mouth on her, don't she!"

He reaches down and you can feel him yanking your blindfold down to your neck. he's grinning a grin a mile wide, face adorned with charmingly crooked piano key teeth and 3 day old stubble. His hair is dark grey with white fading in- the perfect shade of salt and pepper. You can smell the bourbon on him before he even leans in.

His slow, deliberate lilt of a voice with its' slurring and contemplative pauses almost reminded you of someone talking to a very young child while incredibly drunk. The grin on his face is cheeky, like the lion that devoured the gazelle. his emerald green eyes glint in the light, a glassy and glazed look of overt joy crossed with sadism being incredibly clear. He reaches out and trails an oil-stained hand down your cheek.

"Y'know, I know that y'aren't entirely willing here... me wife- she got a bad habit a'seein things like this as... seduction, on your part. last girl was here, she got a nasty shock... Gladys poured bleach in her eyes."

Your eyes widen in fear, your demeanor changing from a relatively battered captive to someone who knew they were dead.

"Yeah, real nasty stuff... wifey reckons that it ruins them for me when she does that. truth is, doesn't really matter t'me. not at all."

Okay great, so if some psycho bitch came in to attempt to deep clean your eyes, you were all set.

“Doesn't matter either way, even if I don't fuck who I bring back, we still eat 'em. I like it when they scream. Fear's... sweet.”

You thrash in your bonds, making any attempt to get him as far away from you as possible. From his clearly dirty hands to his filthy green jumpsuit... he's the epitome of grime. Certainly not the person you'd want touching you- well... no. Now is not the time for you to think about anything you enjoy recreationally.

“You heard me complainin'? Yeah, no way you'da missed that. My wife... she doesn't do a lot for me. I'm pretty much on a tight leash here, really. Henpecked, I think it's called. I do everything she asks and more... but there's this one thing I really love... she won't do it. So you get to do it for me.”

He stands up and gets off you, allowing you to move more freely. You sit up, but not for long. Before you know it he's walked to a cabinet, grabbed what he wanted, and come right back.

He reaches out and pushes you down with one hand- damn, that fucker's stronger than he looks.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, whatever goes for you. Open your mouth.”

You clamp your mouth shut. Hell no- under absolutely no circumstances are you putting anything that fucker gives you in your mouth.

“Hard way, got it.”

He, without any hesitance whatsoever, cold clocks you directly in the face. You're practically seeing stars and you instinctively open your mouth to sharply inhale- and he shoves what feels like his entire hand into your mouth.

“Coulda been easy, you could've had it so nice... but you went and had to be a little pest.”

He raises his other hand and he has a bottle of... drain cleaner!? You recognize the red bottle, you've used that stuff before and the smell alone could make you start cringing.

“P-please... don't...” you sputter out, voice muffled. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.

“You're not really in a position to be makin' requests, no matter how polite, little girlie.”

He pries your mouth open with his hand as far as it can go- you can already feel an ache in your jaw. He pours the cleaner into your mouth, his grin as wide as ever and a glint in his eyes.

The moment it touches your tongue, you're in the most excruciating pain of your fucking life. It's practically indescribable- it's worse than the worst thing you'd felt up to that point. The very millisecond that it touched the flesh inside your mouth, it burned so intensely that you felt like someone had cut your mouth up and smeared some kind of unbearable irritant so deep inside the cuts that it would never come out.

It was all you could do to just not swallow it. You could feel tears freely running down your cheeks, and you began to whimper and shake. Was he going to make you swallow it? Is this it? Are you going to die, tied down by a sadistic English pest control man with drain cleaner dissolving your guts?

He closes your mouth and shakes your head from side to side, ensuring that every part of your mouth has a fucking chemical burn on it. He waits a moment just so you can probably eternally remember the sensation of your mouth sizzling until he turns your head to the side and lets you open your mouth of your own accord. You can feel your lip and cheek where you let it dribble out onto the floor burning and beginning to bleed a bit. You start gagging repeatedly, like a more painful case of the hiccups.

“That's a good babygirl...” He slurs from above you.

He reaches down and dribbles something else into your mouth- and this time it's just water. You swish it around in your mouth, savoring the moment of relief before the burning hell begins again. You open your mouth and let the cool water dribble onto the floor. A little bit of bile also dribbles out of your mouth and mingles with the water on the floor. He takes a moment to do his best to rinse out your mouth with the rest of the water.

“You took it so well for me!” He coos.

You try to talk, but all that escapes your lips is a gasping sob. You impulsively try to roll over on your side and nestle your head in the mattress, just to hide and forget it all because this is all a bad dream and it's all going to be over soon right? It has to be...

To your surprise, he lets you turn over slightly. Your hands are tied and so are your ankles, but you aren't tied flat to the mattress. You bury your head in the (somehow) still white mattress, tears flowing unabashedly. You sniffle, your nose starting to run.

“There there... if it makes you feel any better, you probably won't live long after all this...”

That does not make you feel better.

He lets you take a moment to rest and become (minorly) accustomed to your brand new chemically burned mouth and fancy destroyed mucus membranes. Great.

You look up at him with red eyes and sniffle.

“W-why the fuck did you do that?”

You can't even manage a sentence without crying, and your voice sounds so... warbled. Distorted, like you bit your tongue and hadn't managed to recover.

He looks down at you, his impish grin replaced with (what he probably thought to be) a reassuring smile.

“I told you, my wife won't do it, so you had to.”

He scoots up on the bed and gently strokes your hair. You close your eyes for a minute, attempting to pretend that the person stroking your hair wasn't a slovenly drunk Englishman who reeked of pesticides and just made you almost drink drain cleaner to satisfy some obscure fetish that he had. It was comforting... until he opened his mouth to talk more.

“Now see, it's not the drain cleaner that I want. It's not just the eatin' chemicals. Alone, that isn't very sexy to me. My wife- she has a normal mouth, normal cunt, all that. She let's me fuck her once in a blue moon. It's nice, but it's not what I want from someone in that position.”

He gets up off the bed and stands up straight. It's only now when he stops slouching that you realize how much bigger he is than you- he practically dwarfs you. He could have easily had a career as a police officer or some other intimidating profession instead of a pest control worker. He reaches down and begins undoing the buttons on his jumpsuit, taking his sweet time as he stares at your squirming form on the mattress.

“What I want is... real hard to find, y'know? Not a lot of people willing to go that far, all that jazz. Much easier to take someone than find a willin' friend.”

He undoes the last button on his jumpsuit, revealing a ratty wifebeater underneath.

“But- I just might be getting' ahead of myself... you're not even undressed and here I am, 'bout to spoil my surprise.” He giggles.

He pulls a large carving knife, seemingly from nowhere, and severs the rope holding your ankles together.

“Now sweetheart don't go and kick me, or I'll put some'a that cleaner up your pretty cunt and watch it sizzle before I fuck your burns deep.” He taps your thigh with the knife, for emphasis.

He manages to cut off your pants and shirt quite quickly, making sure to lightly poke you with the knife tip between cuts. You were exposed- in nothing but a black bra and panties.

“My my, expecting someone special, were you?”

He discards the knife and bends down slightly. He pushes your legs apart with one hand and buries his face in your panties. He takes his time smelling you, like he's savoring it. Eventually he stands back up and contentedly sighs.

“You know you're a little wet girlie? I could smell it.”

And he laughs again, that ghastly laugh. He undoes your bra as you try to squirm away.

“Perfect, now you're in the buff and ready for it...”

He reaches down with one of his filthy hands and starts rubbing himself through his jumpsuit. From what you can see of the forming bulge... you're gonna have a a difficult time.

“What I want from someone in this position is utter fuckin' submission. I want them to bleed, cry, mutilate themselves for me because I am their fucking world and all they care for. I'm going to break them irreparably. And you, sweetie? You're mine now. I want the raw submission, and I'm going to make you give it to me!”

He pulls his cock out of his underwear and through the opening in his jumpsuit while quietly wheezing. As expected, it's fucking huge. You can't even guess the size- but it's a monster. Certainly bigger than anything you've ever seen before.

“Ah, you got pretty eyes pussycat. I like the look you got in 'em when you saw my cock.”

You look him up and down. If you hadn't been captured, forced to nearly consume drain cleaner, and scared into submission he just might have been your type. You should have fought harder against him when he first grabbed you- but, coulda, woulda, shoulda, right? On the upside, you've got your tears (slightly) under control.

He trailed his hand up and down his length a couple times while standing and staring at you before springing into action. You still had your mouth dangling open in hopes the air would soothe the burning (it didn't), and he didn't even give you time to object before ramming his cock in your mouth and down your throat.

“You bite me, even just a little bit, and I'll make you hurt worse than you've ever hurt before.”

You relax your jaw in some attempt to placate him. He'll just fuck your face and be done with it, right? You've just gotta last for a little while with him in your mouth- it's all good!

It's when he starts thrusting hard enough to get into your throat that you realize the problem. You hadn't even vaguely considered deepthroating in your life- well, not outside of fantasies anyway. Every time you feel his cock in your throat, you gag. Hard.

“Girlie's havin' some trouble?” he laughs, and thrusts harder.

You reach out with your bound hands and tap his leg to try and signal him to slow or cease or something because you can feel the bile in your throat and it's not going to be pretty-

“Did I say you could fuckin' touch me?”

He pulls out of your mouth, backs up, and knees you in the face. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to make your head swim for what feels like an eternity.

“Disobey, I beat your arse. Got it?”

You nod weakly. If you could, you would fight back... but you just don't have it in you. He steps back up and resumes his brutal pace. With every thrust, you gag more and more profusely.

“Come on you little slut! It's not that fuckin' hard, take it!”

And with his next thrust, you throw up. He pulls himself out of your mouth as fast as he can move. Vile, bitter liquid drips from your mouth onto the floor. You hunch over the side of the bed and don't stop for an entirely too long time. The acid from your puke combined with the chemical burns is like a new, special kind of hell reserved only for you.

“I'm s-”

A coughing fit overtakes you.

“I'm sorry.” you manage to sputter, tears once again streaming down your face.

He has a strange look on his face for a moment- pity, perhaps? You didn't really have time to judge, it was there and gone again, replaced with that crooked smile.

“It's alright, I guess you coulda used a minute... but that's not important now. Clean up the mess you made.”

You look up at him, and see him gesturing at his groin expectantly. There's not a lot of your vomit on him, but what is is dripping off his cock and splattered on his thighs.

You quietly sob again before leaning off the bed. He takes a step forward, and holds your shoulder to steady you.

You take a deep breath, and start licking the vomit off of him. You start with his left thigh, cleaning off the liquid with your tongue. Not very sanitary, but sanitary didn't seem to be what he wanted in the end anyway. You almost want to throw up again the minute your own still-warm vomit touches your tongue... but then he'd just make you clean that too.

Once you've gotten all the puke off his thigh, you move onto his cock. You ensure that you're extra gentle with it, just so he can't punish you somehow for doing something wrong. You lap up the vomit that's left, and shakily exhale.

You move to spit out what you've cleaned, and he stops you.

“No, no. Swallow it.”

You whine, and do as you're told. You do your best to stop yourself from thinking about it too deeply. You stop yourself from puking or gagging again, but you still feel nauseated.

“Good, good job, baby!” he purrs, his accent thicker than ever.

He strokes himself a few times in tandem with his breaths, and looks you over like you're a piece of meat. You feel utterly inhuman- covered in your own puke and sweat, naked in a basement with a bleeding burned mouth. It's like you're just a toy, a little thing there to make him feel good. To be used and thrown away.

He lets go and stands up, meandering down to the end of the bed. He runs his hands over your thighs and between them, his fingers rough and damp.

“Poor thing, so wet and ready for it. I almost don't want to let you feel it- you look so sweet when you're all docile like this.”

He pushes you onto your back, the wind getting knocked out of you in the process. He's between your legs before you have time to breathe. Your legs are spread apart, and you've never felt so uncomfortable.

He leers at you like a rabid wolf. You instinctively try to wiggle away, but his strong hands are no match for you in your current state. He laughs and pushes inside you, not giving you any time to adjust. He's so big it feels like you're going to be torn apart, it's the sickest mix of pleasure and pain you've felt in a long time. It's almost more pain than anything else, and you can hear yourself whimpering while he thrusts.

He's murmuring above you, growling and moaning like a beast. You can't even hope to make out what he's saying, but the noises he makes... they stir something deep inside you that you don't want to admit. There's fire in your belly and your toes are curling from this... _parasite_ touching you. He seems to have picked up on it, he leans in to bite your neck and kiss your jaw. _Shit_.

You hate him and you want to sit up and rip his throat out with your teeth but it feels so _good_ in the moment...

You rock your hips back against him, and make noises that you didn't know you were capable of. You feel him cum inside you- it feels like buckets. You only know he's stopped when he pulls out, and you can feel the cum dripping out of you.

“Such a naughty little slut. Gorgeous... now then, I suppose it's time I got rid 'a ya so the wife doesn't get too upset...”

He reaches under the bed in what feels like a millisecond, and before you can process it you're staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Say 'Goodnight!' sweetheart, I'm gonna to so many pretty things to your body after you're out!”

The last thing you hear is the trigger clicking.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fucking trash sue me. The Pest Control Man left quite an impression on me...
> 
> I also wrote this over a period of a few months due to just kinda forgetting about it.


End file.
